


Ink Blot Roses and Broken Bones

by SleeplesslyInsane



Series: Ink Blots [1]
Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: And Then Put It Back Together Again, Artist Stiles, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm A Freaking Mess, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, THIS FIC BROKE MY HEART, Tattoo Artist Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-12-26 03:04:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18274490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleeplesslyInsane/pseuds/SleeplesslyInsane
Summary: In a world where whatever you write on your body appears on your soulmate's skin as well as any injuries your receive being given to your soulmate as well, everyone is absolutely careful to not allow anything to happen to them on the off chance that their soulmate would suffer because of their actions.So why was Stiles born with bruises? And why has nothing changed since?





	Ink Blot Roses and Broken Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Just because I wanted a little break from the paranormal

Stiles was born with bruises on his tiny little body. It was nothing serious. Just a few on his wrists that looked to be in the shape of fingers and one on his chest the size of an orange. By the size of the bruises in relation to the size of his body, they knew that the one on his chest would have to be huge on his mate. The bruises earned them a few sideways glances from the hospital staff and Claudia was confident that if her husband wasn't the Sheriff that the police would have been called under suspicion of child abuse.

Is it still child abuse if the child was supposedly abused before they were even born?

John and Claudia both looked at each other, communicating without speaking a single word. They both knew that their son was going to go through a lot with this one. And there was nothing that they could do but sit and wait it out and hope that it was worth it.

********

The first tattoo appeared when Stiles was eight. The bruises were a constant and, at this point in life, he was used to the pain. He learned to deal with the pain of broken ribs before he was able to walk. How to walk without a limp even though he was pretty sure his ankle was broken. How to keep a smile on his face even though he was hurting inside and out. Not because of the bruises, even though those hurt something fierce. It was because his soulmate was going through something terrible and he wasn't there to help them. That hurt him more than any little bruise could ever try.

The fact that it was a tattoo wasn't the problem. His parents had made peace with the fact that his soulmate was older on the day he was born. It was what the tattoo said.

Fuck the World and Everyone In It. Right on his ribcage. There would be many years of swimming with his shirt on because of it.

He couldn't be angry with his mate though. Because this was something that was making them feel better. The angry quotes that continued to appear along his side every few months made him feel happy inside because when the ink would appear, he would go a few days without new bruises. Sometimes even a whole week. If all he had to do was get a few tattoos for that to happen then he was gonna do it.

John and Claudia looked at each other, communicating without speaking a single word. They seem to be doing this a lot when it comes to their son. While they didn't much care for the fact that their eight year old son had tattoos on his skin and they were getting a lot of dirty looks from other parents from the school when their children ran home to tell them after seeing Stiles shirtless while changing for gym class, they saw the look on their son's face when he thought they weren't looking. The way he would caress the ink with the most yearning look on his face. He was hurting. And if this was helping him, they weren't going to stand in his way.

It's not like they could anyway.

********

Stiles got the idea right after his mother died and his father hit him for the first time. He didn't even know how it had happened. His dad was looking at him with tears in his eyes. and then those tear filled eyes landed on one of the tattoos that Stiles now had on his neck. It was a single rose with blood dripping from the petals to form into a puddle in between his collar bones. It was the most recent one and he had been touching it throughout the funeral because it brought him comfort. When his dad looked at it, his tears disappeared and were replaced with anger. One second, Stiles was standing and looking for a hug from his dad. The next, he was on the ground, holding his nose that was dripping blood. He knew from experience that it was broken and he would have to set it when he was alone.

It was probably the first time his mate had ever gotten an injury because of him and he wanted to let them know that he was sorry for causing them any pain. While he understood the circumstances with his mate and knew that they were going through something, he always comforted himself with the fact that he would never be the reason they went through any kind of pain. He didn't want to be the reason for them hurting. Ever.

He found the Sharpie sitting on his desk and wrote on his unmarked wrist.

I'm sorry.

~~~

Peter had grown up knowing that God never gave him a soulmate. By the time he was ten, he knew that he would always be alone because he hadn't even gotten a papercut at this point. Not a single bruise. Either his soulmate was living in a bubble or they didn't exist.

Honestly, he was a little upset. Or a lot upset. He had been going through the pain and misery of living in the same space as his father. Being more used to getting punched in the face than being hugged. Not knowing what it was like to feel worth something. All he wanted was to know that there was someone out there for him. Someone that would love him the way he should be loved. Someone that would kiss his scars and tell him that he mattered.

But those things only happened in books and movies. And this was life.

So he dealt with the hits. The punches. The broken bones and tears. And as soon as he was old enough, he got the first tattoo. 

Fuck the World and Everyone In It. Because that is the way that he felt.

He continued to get the tattoos when his father got particularly bad. When he broke his leg, he got the middle finger behind his ear. When his dad drowned him in the bathtub and then brought him back to life to beat him unconscious, he got the rose on his neck. For every broken nose, he got a quote on his ribcage. It became a sort of game. Only, he wasn't enjoying being a player.

That all changed the day he got another broken nose. Only, this time his father was on vacation to Mexico with his conquest of the week. Imagine his surprise when his nose popped out of place and blood spilled out all over the new white couch in the den that he wasn't allowed to ever sit on. 

He wasn't worried about the beating that he would get for this, however. He was wondering how the fuck he got a broken nose from sitting still. And then the words appeared on his arm.

I'm sorry.

He ran to get a pen faster than he's ever run in his entire life. And he was once chased with a hot iron. His hand was shaky, but he managed to write a reply.

Why are you apologizing? I'm pretty sure you didn't break your own face.

~~~

The smile that appears on Stiles face is almost enough to make him forget about the broken nose. His soulmate isn't mad at him. They didn't blame him for bringing them more pain. He gets up to wash the previous message from his arm and writes a new one.

I never wanted to be the person that brought you more hurt. I never wanted to be the reason for a bloody nose or a single bruise or cut. You have enough to deal with.

The words were tiny, but legible. While he waited for a reply, he set his nose and leaned his head forward as fresh blood gushed from it. He's had enough bloody noses by now to know that the blood ruining his clothes is a way better feeling than it sliding down the back of his throat. He looked down to see the reply.

It's okay darling. At least now I know you're real. You can hurt me all you want as long as you never disappear. My name is Peter. May I have yours?

He smiled even bigger and wrote a single word.

Stiles.

********

A sixteen year old Stiles smiled down at the little notepad that had been tattooed on his forearm. It had been years since he got it, but every time he looked at it his face brightened and he forgot about what he had to go home to. He had yet to meet Peter, but he probably knows him better than he knows himself at this point. 

He had decided a while ago that he may as well have his look match the amount of tattoos on his body. He had gotten an undercut a while ago and recently started dying the tips to match his mood. For the last few months, it had been blue. It's pretty obvious why.

His father walked into the house and went straight to the liquor cabinet. Stiles took this as his cue to go up to his room because when his dad got drunk, his dad got violent. 

Going to his old desk in the corner, he got out his sketch pad and began to draw what he felt. Somehow, the chiseled face of a stranger came from the end of his pencil. Beautiful eyes that held mischief. He just knew were the color of the ocean. A five o'clock shadow that he wants to feel against his face. And the most gorgeous smile he's ever seen.

He closes the book and grabs the pen that he now carries everywhere with him because it's perfect for writing on yourself and it comes off easily with water. 

Dad's getting drunk again so I'm gonna head to the coffee shop. I don't know why he even does this anymore. It's like he only knows I exist when he wants to beat on something or someone. Anyway I'm going to this place right next to this new tattoo shop that just opened up. I was thinking about getting one, but you already stole all my ideas.

He makes his way into the café and takes a seat in the corner after ordering a peppermint and ginger tea, his face buried in a new book that he grabbed on his way out of the house. He knew he was gonna be there for a while.

~~~

"Erica, I know it looks like I'm reading too much into this. But I just opened a tattoo shop next to a coffee place and Stiles told me he lived in a nowhere town in California. What could be more nowhere than Beacon Hills? It's so nowhere that it's where I went to get away from my father because I know he'll never look in the middle of fucking nowhere. He has to be here."

"Peter, I thought you said youguys were waiting until he was eighteen before you started trying to look for each other. You don't want to get thrown in prison by his sheriff father before you two even really have the chance to get together." Erica looks at him with her arms crossed in a way that means she thinks whatever she's talkig about is too stupid to even be discussing. 

"He's this close Erica. I have to try. I can't just sit here while he could be right next door." Without waiting for a reply, he grabs his jacket from the hook next to the door and leaves without another word to his employee. When he walks into the cafe, the smell of coffee and fresh baked goods hits him in the face and he's not shocked that Stiles sees this place as a safe space. It feels like home.

He takes another look down at his arm to see exactly what it says and what it looks like before walking around the place, discreetly looking at people's arms to see if they match. There's one boy in the corner, dark blue head buried in a book and a now cold cup of forgotten tea sitting next to his hand that's tapping on the table. It seems like he doesn't even realize he's doing it. 

Peter almost overlooks him until his eyes catch on the rose tattoo on the side of his neck. The same tattoo that Peter had gotten what felt like so long ago. He looks at where his long sleeved shirt had drawn up a bit on his arm and sees a little corner of the small notepad he's tattooed on their arms so that they could talk easier. 

"Stiles?"

~~~

"Stiles?"

He looks up at the sound of a completely unfamiliar voice calling his name. He thinks for a second that it's his father. He's never sought him out to beat him before, but there's a first time for everything. But when he looks up, he meets eyes that hold mischief. He knew that they would be the color of the ocean.


End file.
